


Coming Together

by Jwink85



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Conversations, Flirting, Love, M/M, Murder Husbands, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:55:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24282451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jwink85/pseuds/Jwink85
Summary: Hannibal and Will have a conversation after the fall; attempting to make sense of their shattered teacup.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 75





	Coming Together

**Author's Note:**

> No smut? Wow, that never happens, lol!
> 
> I've been wanting to write something like this since I finished the show, bc the ending destroyed me and I don't want it to be over. ;___; I wasn't readyyyy.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! ❤

Darkness awaited them over the cliff, and pain, but Will had been expecting that; the free-fall, the all consuming rush of finally letting go and being free...

But freedom had a price, it always did, and as Will had clung to Hannibal during their descent he had felt it acutely; every jagged rock and jolt, his muscles, bones, and flesh fairly screaming -

Still, he'd held on, not so much to protect himself, but to make Hannibal's fall down the cliff easier, to somehow ease his suffering, if only a little. Until darkness claimed him, Will tried, and this was a comfort, until the world went away, and he could no longer feel the doctor's body pressed to his own. All at once, reality was gushing blood and agony, and the swirl of the sea around them, and still, still, he tried to hold on, because that's all he'd ever wanted... beyond all else, this feeling, and this touch. 

When he awoke, Will could still hear the sea in his ears and smell the briny rush of salt, and it was almost like he was falling all over again. He whimpered, low and broken, in the blue-white lighting of an unfamiliar room, until a hand was touching him softly and he heard that accented voice, rich like wine, dark and lulling... a lullaby that soothed his fears, made him rest more comfortably against stark, white sheets. 

"It's going to be alright, Will," the voice said, sweet smoke to the senses, "I'm here. I promise...I'm here."

This voice, despite the pain, the aching in a body that didn't quite feel real anymore, was enough to draw him back into the quiet solitude of slumber, so Will obeyed... reluctantly, fighting, but still he gave in, because he trusted it. Beyond all reason, he trusted it, and that was enough for the moment. 

When he woke again, the room was still dim, like a perpetual, chilled twilight, but he didn't have to muddle through the pain and shadow alone for long, strong, capable hands reaching to comfort, so warm and smelling of spice; a medicinal scent beneath. 

"You were dreaming," a voice, now smooth like vanilla, like rainfall, spoke, and Will was waking up fully, turning his head to see Hannibal there, plumping his pillow and somehow still elegant, despite his obvious fatigue. "Talking in your sleep. Do you remember anything?"

The ache in his face was profound, and for a moment Will didn't think he could speak because of it, tasting blood in his mouth; heavy on his tongue. Still, he tried, wanting to prove he could, jaw working arduously until his voice came through -

"Molly," he managed, stomach clenched to fortify him from the effort, "i saw her, and -"

"The boy, I'm sure. Wally, was it?" Hannibal moved closer until he was in Will's line of sight. "Molly and Wally? Now isn't that wonderfully pat."

"There's no need for that now," Will murmured, though he'd had the same thought often enough. "I just saw her, in our cabin, with the snow falling, and -"

"A cozy, domestic scene," Hannibal finished, taking up a warm, moist cloth to dab at Will's facial wound. "Tell me, did you see the dogs, the roaring fireplace, the proverbial boat coasting on the sea?" He lapsed into silence, but it was less tranquil than before. "Did you feel safe, Will?"

As always, Will could pinpoint the subtle animosity behind the doctor's words, and he tried to speak to it; appease him. 

"I haven't felt truly safe since I met you, and yet -"

"And yet you're here." Turning away, Hannibal wrung out the cloth. 

Will shuddered, exhausted already from using his voice so little, or maybe it was the challenge of keeping up with someone as complicated as Hannibal Lecter.

"We're here," he murmured, "and like I said before, unless you forgot, I want to be honest with you. Even when it comes to my dreams." Pausing, he had to smile, the action making him groan with pain. "Jealousy isn't your finest look, Hannibal, but I can't say I dislike it entirely."

"Petulant thing," Hannibal sighed, clearly amused. Reaching, he smoothed the sweaty curls from Will's forehead, just looking at him for the moment; reddish-brown eyes full of subdued exhaustion. 

Seeing this weariness, Will felt something small in his chest crumble, realizing he was peering behind the monster's veil and into the man himself; a being capable of something as mundane as needing sleep. It made him ache to know that he'd been cared for while Hannibal's needs fell by the wayside, his own serious injuries. 

"It's amazing to me," he said, beginning to wind down and balancing on the cusp of sleep, "how so many years of animosity can lead to so much sudden tenderness."

"Overt tenderness, at any rate. You've never been receptive to my attempts in the past, Will," Hannibal replied, shifting to sit on the bed rather than kneeling beside it. "I always had to be subliminal about it... my brand of care."

"Time to stop hiding entirely, I suppose," Will said, weakly patting the place beside him. "Why don't you lie down?"

Cupping Will's cheek, he slid his thumb along his skin. Will turned his head to lean into the touch, and now Hannibal gave one of his rare, true smiles. "That would make you happy?"

"Only if it does the same for you," Will murmured.

"Shall I hold you the way you held me as we fell?" Hannibal teased, moving to stretch out beside him, curled on the side where he hadn't taken the Dragon's bullet. He was close, but he didn't touch. 

Incapable of being completely sentimental even in his gentlest moments, Will smirked, knowing that this was Hannibal's version of playfulness. As such, he decided to lob the doctor's own question back at him. 

"Would that make you happy?"

Silence, save for the wind striking the window behind them like tinkling, faint chimes and the deep hum of Hannibal's breath next to Will's ear met this question. There was a shift in the air, like tension cracking, and then he spoke softly:

"Yes. It would."

It was the thread of vulnerability in the doctor's words that made Will's heart crumple anew, a fact that embarrassed him; this foolish whimsy. In turn, it made him irritable, such was the way of Will Graham. 

"Christ," he muttered, turning his head slowly to regard Hannibal, his own personal Hell beast. Their eyes caught and he was sure this convergence created heat between them, further compounding the turn in his mood. "Come here, okay? I'm not much of a cuddler as a general rule -"

"You've never responded well to attempts at physical intimacy," Hannibal said, moving closer and slowly draping an arm on Will, fastidiously careful to avoid his wounds. "Though I would argue the point that you're touch starved."

Will gave him a look, enjoying the heaviness of the doctor's limb... its comforting weight, almost like an anchor grounding him. "I was married, Hannibal. I've been touched plenty in the last few years."

"Have you?" The doctor's fingers curled a little tighter on Will's side. "Was it in a way that had any sort of significance?"

Will laughed, a low rumble deep in his chest. "You mean like this?" Reaching, he poked Hannibal's arm gently before settling his hand, fingers splayed.

Hannibal didn't readily answer, and so many long moments passed that Will was sure the man had fallen into sleep, when the cultured voice again spoke, huskier now. 

"I have to ask," he murmured, daring to stroke Will over his thin shirt, the heat of their skins bleeding together, "is the teacup we're mending now the same as the one we had before, or entirely new?"

"We can't go back to the way we were before, Hannibal; if that answers your question."

"It does."

Will breathed deeply, ready to sleep... nearly ready to broach the growing intimacy he was considering with the man beside him, but not quite there yet. Their connection had always been so cerebral, a true, unadulterated affair of the mind, but now that there was time and the freedom to spend it as they chose -

Timidly, he brushed soft lips against Hannibal's forehead before resting his face there, eyes slowly closing. The doctor, for his part, tensed softly at the touch but didn't move away; a languid bonelessness becoming evident in his bearing. 

"What's our next move?" Will asked quietly. "Or have you thought that far ahead?"

Stifling a chuckle, he turned his head to nuzzle into Hannibal's smooth hair. What was he thinking? Of course his doctor had thought that far... in the chess game of life, he was always at least five moves ahead. 

Hannibal tapped his fingers against Will's ribs before answering, conversational now:

"How would you feel about calling on Bedelia? Or would that be impolite at this juncture?"

"Are you really concerned about how we'll be perceived?"

"Not especially, no."

"Well, then," Will sighed, already being dragged down into the bowels of recuperative slumber, "we'll have to pay her a visit, won't we?"

Hannibal only hummed, obviously pleased and vaguely excited, an odd emotion for him to wear, but it thrilled Will, much like everything else the good doctor did. He smiled, a slow happening like ink staining parchment. Behind his eyes, where the blackness lay, he could see the glittering shards of porcelain steadily beginning to gather themselves -

The shattered teacup slowly putting itself to rights. 


End file.
